2 Years Ago

I could see the Stormveil from my vantage point, safe behind the steel-glass port of my father’s airship. To see it for the first time was beyond breathtaking; a perpetual storm four hundred and fifty meters high, running the length of the continent, stretched out along the horizon. A rush of wind enraptured millions of specks of dirt, debris, and even rock, swirling and blowing, tearing through the sky to create an immense wall of pitch blackness, broken only by the period lightning flash from beyond the event horizon. 

“Beautiful, but deadly,” My father’s voice cut into my admiration of the less than natural wonder. I was immediately drawn back to my immediate surroundings; the dark-gray steel of the wall surrounding me, the hum and consistent vibration of the floor beneath my polished boots. Beyond the walls, the clanking of machinery, slamming of copper pistons, the muted hiss of steam pipes providing power to the massive engines just a hundred meters behind us. “They say one cannot approach it, a distance of three point seven two miles is the hard limit.”

“Is that so?” I mused, finally looking away from the window and toward my father who was seated in a short, cushionless chair, bolted to the floor to prevent it from tumbling. As stable as the airship was, heavy objects could become projectiles in times of turbulence and as we rode three hundred meters off the ground, turbulence was an inevitability.

My father nursed his drink; a brown liquid ensconced within a square crystal glass, sloshing about as he tilted it and visually inspected the contents before taking a brief sip. He was a built man, a hardened, chiseled face with a black beard that was carefully trimmed and showing the slightest hints of gray. Like me, he wore the deep black Axock military uniform, decorated with brass buttons in the front, but in true Axockish style, the lapel pulled back, creating an angular panel of blue across his breast. 

“It is so,” he nodded. “The winds would tear our airship apart, even at that distance. A man? The flesh ripped from his skeleeton within mere seconds.”

 Outside the window, miles away, a flash of lightning momentarily illuminated the Stormveil and I squinted, hoping in vain to see something beyond the unnatural barrier.

“I was in awe, the first time I saw it too, my son, but you must take heed at the beauty of things. Oftentimes beauty hides malice, and malice can bring about our end. It was malice that built the Stormveil, and malice that will bring it down.”

“How did the Stormveil come to be, father?” I asked him as I turned from the window and took my seat in the chair across from him. “You never spoke on such things.”

“No, I did not,” His expression grew grim as the ship rumbled closer to the Stormveil. “twenty-nine years ago, son, the world was whole. Axock was a great kingdom-”

“It still is, father,” I raised an eyebrow, thinking of the towering spires of my home, the palace proper within the nation of Axock. He chuckled a little, and then his face returned to that same stony expression that I knew best. 

“Nearly thirty years ago,” He said. “Axock was on the verge of conquering the known world. Klocby and Oniodale would not bend the knee of course, and with their military strength, we had no hope, even today, but imagine what the world would have been son, had we been able to take Onira and the surrounding nations! The rock men in the city of Jybaltin; unwilling allies of course, but allies nonetheless. A unified front son, Axock would have been the wonder of the world, a military force impossible to stop.”

“What happened?” I asked. “Why did you stop?”

Father took a long tug on his drink, and then set the glass on the short table in front of him; it clinked as the liquid sloshed in time with the ship’s vibration. 

“It wasn’t by choice, son,” He shook his head. “the Mah’kur commited their treachery overnight. Dark magic was invoked to create the Stormveil; just as we were to march upon Onira, it tore through Faidrye and killed a third of Axock’s troops. A full third, son. The loss of supplies, the devastation to our morale, we still hasn’t fully recovered, and it’s all thanks to them. So, son, beauty, is malice. Always look beyond it. Find the truth, because the truth is ugly.”

“But father,” I argued. “Our forces are at least equal to Klocby and Onidale. We could march on them within a fortnight-”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, son,” My father raised a hand, calling for silence. “however, equal is not sufficient. We would fight a war of attrition, the losses on both sides would be substantial, and how long do you think my men would follow me if I sent them intentionally to their demise?”

“The men are loyal to you, father,” I said firmly. 

“Right you are, my boy,” Father nodded. “But we rule not just through fear, but through competency. It tasks us to keep the delicate balance between the two, but if you show the men you are competent, then fear will do the rest.”

“But will they not judge us as weak if we take no action?” I asked. “The High Lady Jenwise is…arrogant, as you have said.”

“Should we take action,” My father said. “The High Lady can call upon the support of Krescester, Foport, and Ziita, not to mention the aid of Lord Radon and his considerable force. We would be outnumbered.”

“Nonsense,” I shook my head. “What of our forces in Uphey and Jurg?”

“They have the technological advantage, son,” My father said. “It is a risk not worthy.”

To our right, the door slid open and a young girl with auburn hair stepped through. She gave a brief curtsey, holding the skirt of her gray uniform and gave the customary greeting of “My Lords” before stepping toward the shelf near the rear of the room, behind father with a new, and replenished decanter. 

“Servant!” My father said abruptly. “Your name?”

The girl set the decanter down, gently, and rushed to the center of the room, offering a quick curtsey before father and replying. 

“This one is called Plum, my lord,” She said sweetly, but timidly. I could hear the tremble of her voice and sense the tensing of her body. Her skin paled behind a cascade of freckles as she placed her hands, folded in front of her and dropped her head. 

“I requested that my whiskey be chilled, servant,” My father glared at her sternly. “Are my requests frivolous now?”

“No, My Lord,” She said. 

“And who prepared it?” 

“I did,” she admitted, almost visually sinking away even as she stood still.

“Father,” I interjected. “What purpose does our visit to Hybra serve? We cannot breach the Stormveil.”

“On the other side of that veil,” He said. “Are resources beyond imagination. The mines of Onira contain gemstones that channel elements in ways you’ve never seen. The ability to create fire from thin air, to reshape the land beneath your feet. Imagine son, if we could broker a trade agreement with Onir. Time it would take, but the elemental power we would gain? Then son, we could claim the victory that we both desire. The right to reshape the realm as we see fit. All of Faidrye beneath the Axock banner. That is what I seek.”

“I see,” I nodded. “but then we must decide when enough is enough. If we could take Klocby without opposition, then would we need to bring down the Stormveil?”

“All decisions to be made in time,” My father nodded. He then returned his attention to the girl. “we ought execute servants who cannot perform their duties. How difficult can it be, girl?”

“This girl apologizes, My Lord,” She said fearfully. “this girl will fix it-”

“Micah, son,” My father raised his hand, silencing the girl. “you will be fifteen in a matter of days. You are nearly of age. These decisions must become yours to make. How will you discipline her?”

“You spoke of fear, father,” I mused. “should we execute her, it would set an example. An example that would prompt the other servants to perform more efficiently, lest they lose their heads as well.”

“This is true,” My father nodded approvingly. The girl began to tremble even more; a single tear emerged from her eye and rolled down her cheek. Internally, my satisfaction at the power I held grew, and I did my best to keep it from showing. I held the power of life and death over this girl; with a single word I could send her over the side of the airship, or even have her tortured. 

“But you also spoke of competency, father,” I said with a sigh. “if we begin executing servants on a whim for such minor offenses, then the burden is on us to train more staff, and ultimately, a waste of resources. Perhaps a lesson is in order.”

“Quite right,” My father nodded. He leaned forward and laid his finger on a gray button set into the table. Less than ten seconds later, a guard stepped through the door, rifle in hand. 

“Guard!” My father said sternly and abruptly. “Take the girl and see her flogged, twenty times.”

“Yes, My Lord,” The guard saluted and took Plum by the arm. She whimpered as he dragged her from the chamber. 

“You must understand son, as your sister does, that as we hatch our plans against the likes of Klocby, they hatch theirs likewise. The worst thing you can do, my son, is believe you are the smartest in the room, because someone, somewhere, may always outsmart you.”

“And then what?” I asked.

“And then, brute strength helps. Enough talk, son, we near the city of Hybra.”

“And so we negotiate with the Mah’Kur for passage,” I said. My father nodded.

“We negotiate, we gain the resources we need, and then we attack. Biding our time has never been more important.”